The Hour of Tryst
by xXxJazzy B. RealxXx
Summary: Curiosity shouldn't have turned into chemistry. They should've never spoken beyond, "Hello, how have you been since that catastrophe with Black Doom?" sixteen years ago. Shadow/Amy.


**Disclaimer:** Reposted due to inconvenience. I apologize to those who reviewed. Attempted a few revisions. SonicTeam owns the characters of this one-shot. To enjoy or to not enjoy, that is thy question...for it comes with _corn._

* * *

_"I will forget my dreams. See what this feeling means? [But] you say it's all complex; passion can pass for less. We never bothered telling each other what we were bound to guess."_

* * *

An empty glass shattered against the kitchen floor with a _"Plash!"_ capitalizing the _mayhem_ behind their romance. He bit her shoulder—she bit his lip. His hips trapped hers—her lips trapped his. Black fingers trailed in the water flooding the counter she sat on; _Aphrodite__(1)_ was waiting to be slain by her _Ares(2)_.

"You're in my brain...at the first light of dawn," she whispers.

She trembled as his fingers' wet tips traced the bridge of her nose, titilliating her toes to curl.

They should have stopped.

Her pink lips bobble off the head of them as he drags all five digits down her mouth, smearing water across it with a thumb and moistening its dry cracks.

They _really _should have stopped.

"Y—You're in my _mind_...when I see him," she pants.

He smirked; teeth peeking through the lips. A hand of sybaritism slid down her throat as its caress splayed along her collarbone. He dipped a finger down the front of her dress, enticing her legs to part.

What would their _friends _think?

The water kissed her skin as it tickled down her breasts.

What would _People Magazine _think?

Sweat beaded the cleavage his massaging finger was tucked between as her breath hitched—higher and higher; her fists clenched—tighter and tighter; her morals slipped away—farther and further.

...What would the _world _think?

Forehead now sheen with it, she closes her sweaty hands in his hair and rasps into his ear: "…But it's—I don't want it anymore. I don't need anymore obsessions."

Should they be _burned_ in a cornfield for following the path their hearts laid out for them? Should they have snuffed it out—_muffled it—_under the reeking stench of sex?

He stroked her stomach with the back of his hand as she swallowed back a moan to sluice its quivering. These faint touches, the ones when his fingers admire her shoulder, linger on her back, massage her waist and assure her with safety, were her opium. Gropes stimulated nothing but awkward tension as it made both feel out of character to indulge them. A more subtle touch—_a touch of the ulimate—_reminded her of snow: the softer it fell, the deeper it melted.

Flushed up to the neck, she wailed and said, "One day, we'll have to stop." She shook her head—quills flying in wisps of pink, eyes wet with a million emotions, "It's been happening for too long."

All too late. They should've never spoken beyond, _"Hello, how have you been since that catastrophe with Black Doom?"_ sixteen years ago in the first place. She should've kept her smile to herself as he should've kept his arms crossed when he saw it—_didn't she know that he was predisposed to such innocence?_ She should've kept her laughs to herself; he should've kept his open stares to himself upon hearing it—_didn't he know that the hidden adventure behind his eyes excited her? _Curiosity had turned into chemistry.

Forehead to forehead, he shook his head limply with his eyes closed. He muttered, "No,"'s and "Mm-mm,"'s as he dragged his fingers down the folds of her dress with a gaze that was erotically unsober. She looked down—her nose just missing his—and chewed on her lip again. Her skin crawled as his breath fell into the ellipse of her neck, unsheathing her incoherence as it hovered there. She could feel his lazy eye watching the reactions flit across her face while his hand glided down her ankle.

They both should've kept their _lives_ to themselves, but _Newton's Laws _told them time and again that it had been inevitable, for it only took a resemblance to another's smile and a vow on a Space Colony to set the stage. Everyone in their lives before them, the blue hedgehog, the white bat, the blonde haired girl—every lost and accomplished dream—every first and new love in their adolescent lives—were all northern stars leading them here.

"This dress," he slurred, drunk off the vision of white she was curtained in. She choked a little when his finger stroked the instep of her calf."...This—_dress_." His touch lingered on the fabric, riding it up her knee, longing to peek at the extravaganza underneath. Yes, his fantasies consisted of _angelic things. _

He snaked his hand up her thigh—_innocent things—_up under her dress—_soft things—_down the front of her underwear—

His _Ingenue's_ anger dried her tears for her as she grabbed his wrist, "You're not _listening_ to me. When we were in public last year, people told us "we" didn't make _sense_—"

The intoxicating spell was gone from him. "We make _all _the sense in this filthy little world." The betrayal curdled his eyes into blood.

Frowning became harder for her. He was always better at it than she. His _Ingenue_ turned her head from him, unable to form anything other than frustrated tears. Crying performed a better translation of her feelings than speech, but a distraction was arranged when his fingers sunk into her hair and clutched the scruff of her bangs. An intense breath rolled off the tip of her tongue, and her lungs almost collapsed into her stomach when he reeled her face into his.

He infiltrated her heart with a more hostile gaze, "Now, I will one day consider you when you have learned to voice your own opinions instead of mouthing the opinions of others."

Her body flinched as the back of his forefinger ran up her spine. A pint of sweat hit the edge of the kitchen counter.

"...Sense will be made tonight."

His hand passed through her bangs and slipped into another world as he re-gripped her at the scalp. He craned her head back until her throat was flashing its vulnerability to him; the heat between their loins and the desperation in her whimpers converting him to lechery all the while.

A tear drops as she inhales all that's happening. The fingers shaking on the counter top brace the ledge for leverage. She arches her hips into him for self-restraint, only smoldering their body heat. "It's…it's n-not love—_not_ love, and you _know _that," her shut eyes flittered with refusal, sweat, and invitation as she removed his hand from her heart to the place between her legs, "It's _this_."

Liar, liar, underwear wringing wet like water.

They were picky people, for they didn't kiss and touch just anyone with a pair of lips for both sets. Both were people who knew what obsessive love and devotion meant with resounding clarity once upon a time ago. One shunned all other options except one, while the other shunned all options period, and somehow they found one another when they forgot to shun each other. It was like a car accident in the middle of the street that'd been caused by a smile and a frown. _Nothing _was supposed to come out of that.

Yet they were mirrors of the reversed image. Not _opposites_, but reversed reflections. She was generally kind, but sometimes ruthless; he was generally ruthless, but sometimes kind, and her personality was as contradictive as his. _"One attracts on the outside what one is on the inside."_ Since a fragment of Maria's light inhabited his heart, it made sense to him that he'd attract light: _her_. _"The object and its reflected image are similar in essence but opposite in form."_

The professor said he was created with his sister's soul, but purity was at the bottom-pits of his very core, and it conflicted with his very exterior. In spite of himself, he had always been attracted to light because of that haunting origin behind his creation, that contradicting plothole in his character, that torn personality between past and present. Though there was no contradiction that light—in the embodiment of cornflower hair and rosy cheeks—was something magnetic with him. Light had been his beloved. _Light_ had elicited _light _out of him; he could not do it for himself. The _Ingenue_ sitting on this kitchen counter matched the mind he had in his past before losing it to Maria's traumatic death; the mindset he now half-had and half-lost, the mind of his sister.

He stroked the quills away from her shoulder and pressed his hand to her heart, rousing her to breathe in.

_"Pure and perfect; to bring happiness to humanity," _was what the professor dubbed him under.

The _Ingenue_ on this kitchen counter had become the key. The destiny to living _it_ instead of living on the outskirts of it or simply living _for_ it. This temperamental girl was someone he could be as devoted to as he was to another; this hyperactive jitterbug had his family's vision; this dreamy-eyed damsel personificated and stood for what he—_they—_believed in. _"...They always have a reason to be happy! That's why you should help them out!"_

He began to see her as his lost, kindred soul—assuming that she completed the portrait of his purpose like a symmetric puzzle piece. She could stand _behind_ him as a symbol of the principles _behind_ his creation. She was the reversed reflection.

_"I have to keep my promise to Maria...and you."_

Being what he wasn't in form but in essence, the heart beating under his palm had come to match his. Her self-doubts, her lonesomeness, her selfishly selfless attitude, her fighting spirit, her glaring faces, her devotion to humanity's cause, her strife to prove her worth and earn respect, her daredevil desire to be a part of the thrill, her ability to like being in one place with a foot-ground to come back to, her hardcore commitment to friendships, her virtues that defined his the reason for his artificial existence, the fact that her power lied in _love_...

The strands of pink hair slithered off the bridges of his fingers as he studied her face.

It all related to the very meaning of his creation, and she was stupid for doubting these connections.

His clenched fist rested on her collarbone, making her shiver as the other hand hooked inside of her to retch out a squeal. She blinked up at him with that same tearful stupidity, eyes asking for a response from him.

When it came to their adultery, their bodies were always attached to their hearts. Their exploits were anything but _true love_, but their hearts moved with their bodies. They liked physically exploring every interval of one another, for each touch reflected a trait about their personalities.

Her legs closed in intimidation of his motives, but he squeezed her thigh to null her actions, leaving her breathless on command.

Their complementary 'differences' amongst their supplementary 'similarities' increased that cliche fetish between light and dark. He based his fantasies on one's innocent nature to cure that glitch in his brain caused by old trauma, and she enjoyed every experimental experience like another adventure to use for an emotional outlet; both sought for depth in between it all.

So right now, his glare wouldn't tolerate this.

Right now, his aching crotch didn't come for this.

Right now, his defiled heart didn't beat for this.

She needed to be silenced, and silenced she will be: he slipped his tongue under hers, filling her with his devotion. Her attempts to break loose were weak and half-assed: a jerk of the wrist, a muffled yelp, a push against his chest—all proving that this was exactly what she dreamt of every night. Denial melted into butter, and butter liquefied into submission. Upon her demise, she gave in, sighing into his mouth as he devoured her whole.

He yanked the hair-tie out of her braid to let her hair flow like water. She shrugged off the straps of her dress as she heeled to him, forgetting the cause she was fighting for. Teeth, tongue, and lips appeased her neck, plucking and suckling on her ravine until a hickey reddened it. Gentle hands traveled up her sides, bringing the voile dress up with them. At the mercy of his affection, she tilted her head back with a smile she didn't know she was wearing.

She rested her cheek on his temple with her hand caressing his head to inhale a little bit of heaven, "_Yes_..."

Her lids fell into a peaceful closing—_bliss_. His thumb massaged the inside of her thigh, making her caress on his scalp stiffen into a fist—_ecstasy_. She humped the heel of his palm, mouth hung open with an instance of sweat dropping off her chin. Her knees were knocking and bruising themselves red, and her nails were clinging onto his back as if he were her lifeline. The beautiful, butterfly feeling exploded in her stomach with each finger stroke.

Face in her neck, his nose flared out to inhale her dank scent and exhaled when it became too much for him to take. Self control was doomed to snap; clenching the sides of her dress and forcing their groins to meet was his only means for relief once his tongue found the back of her throat. She caressed his neck as he gripped her scalp to change the angle of his mouth. His everything dissolved into hers, and she melted into his.

Their lips pressed harder, _deeper_—trying to get inside, trying to expose the other's secrets. They wanted to feel what the other was feeling—_no more ambiguousity_. If he had "promised" her "the world," then she should've promised him more than her open legs, in spite of how much trust and mutualism it took to get them parted. Whorling his tongue around hers, he leaned his body into the kiss, applying as much force as he could to make his demands clear. A brink of sweat raced down his muzzle as he nibbled on her tongue's fat tip to help her picture a world of pleasure and pain. Biting his lip, he backed away from her panting mouth to rain kisses down her chest.

With a wriggle and a squirm, she lowered the dress's frame and the bra that came with it. _Aphrodite_ flipped the hair out of her face as her breasts bounced free. And yet, _Ares's_ eyes met _hers_ and _hers _only.

The quiet storm behind those amber rubies seared holes into her flesh and threw her adneraline into a feverish rush. It was a spell that had not only burned the inside of her belly with passionate firebands, but every liament in her body. To her, his eyes had more honey than blood; they were the color of two glowing suns, most certainly warm enough to melt the _Earth's _sun right off the sky's canvas. The inferno behind his stare made her hot and cold to a point that made being in his arms a nerve-wracking experience. It was a sensation that was in stark contrast to her reactions with someone she had once painted herself blue for.

Her shoulders huddled together as he brushed her bangs away from her eye.

It was true, he didn't leave her suspended in the air like his opposite, but he gave suffocative devotion as a side-effect to the trauma he'd experienced in his past. Nevertheless, this wasn't why she ended up drowning in him after she caught his opposite in the adult period of her life. Once her fantasy came true with her first love, she found her vision to be less narrow—either because it was now less stimulated or the head-craze had little effect due to reaching mid-life. She experimented with other stimulations to pave some kind of individuality apart from love: art, cookery, ballet, and dangerous characters. The latter was unexpected, and at first, an innocent friendship.

The more she got involved with the color black, the more she cocked her head at what a seemingly two-sided person he was. Never predictable or recognizable, but holding an untapped thrill to him, that same _lust_ to be on the _go-go-go_ for whatever life-or-death scenario fate had to give him. His dangerous, action-packed lifestyle stimulated her like the reenactment of a moth drawn to a flame. He wasn't necessarily a rock or an anchor—even if she did feel like she enjoyed people who'd stand _by_ her as much as they could run _with _her. He was more like a boulder tumbling down a hill at a fast pace. A stalwart, sacrifical type willing to be swept away by her compassionate river's flowing emotions and purified by her nourishing insight.

Her conversion had nothing to do with the comparison of what or whom was better between the black and the blue. It was the refreshing difference he brought to her life that she pined over. It was the fact that he was a new pair of flame-streaked shoes she had never tried on. Being able to learn and teach this black one the way words couldn't—being able to get her hands on something strange and unexplored to add to her life's collection of new adventures—was fulfilling to her. While she knew she served as an additional inspiration to his life cause, he also became an entirely new inspiration to her on how to break through life's ugliness and be your very own person when the world told him, _"You're nothing more than a madman's puppet,"_ like the world once told her, _"You're nothing more than a useless, swooning damsel."_

They were both more than that from the start, and proved it time and time again. Their struggles to be self-worthy and look for growth were equally constant.

By delving into the anti-hero, she delved into her own insecurities and hopes that, with all of her personal flaws and shortcomings, she too will be able to rise above a challenge and end victoriously. As if he were trying to wear the costume of Jesus, he acted like he had no needs and lived only for the promises he made to his dead family, yet never for himself. That was astounding to her—to see someone with as much devotion to love and friendship as she. She had flustered over how his heart worked once she realized it; how bittersweet and indirectly similar its tale was to her. Compared to his bat comrade, she held passionate admiration instead of passionate pity.

She was infatuated with the idea of offering a war-hero inspiration in opposition to being infatuated with what a hero had to offer _her._ For the first time, the infatuation was selfless. Somehow that mutual admiration for the other's heart mutated into a repressed longing, and their differing connection to the words, _"pure, perfect, and happiness" _interlocked.

_"I have to keep my promise to Maria...and you."_

His arms squeezed around her body, giving her no say in the matter. She trembled like she'd done so many times under his power, and felt him rest her back on the counter, never to sever that connection between their gazes.

The barrier that had always been between them was still there, but foolishness seduced them into believing they could walk on water and tip-toe around consequences. The barrier wasn't steel, but it was painted blue. She may not have belonged to anyone, including that blue barrier, but her heart was in two different places for two different hedgehogs. The black aroused her thinking, the blue flip-flopped her stomach, and both had two halves of her. She loved the blue barrier that stopped her from crossing over between lust and love for the latter hedgehog, but she could never fantasize them rolling around in carnal lust the way she could so easily do with his stark contrast.

Still, there was no preference no matter what. She patterned between them both for different fulfillments and different flaws, and couldn't bring herself to deliverance. She wouldn't call herself the _playmate_ if both hedgehogs—in the definition of "open relationship"—had no problem wining and dining with her one night to then be independent the next day doing God knows what. Loyal as they were, both were still self-commited men. However, sometimes the black's demanding needs from his past would creep up on him and he'd become curiously _clingy_ towards what "she should and should not do_." _He parented her, he did—and at times, that kind of attention was exactly what she screamed about wanting from her first love. These on and off affairs of secrey, affairs a cream rabbit didn't even know about, had turned into a shared drug between two addicts needing their hit. Her mind didn't mean for this, but the heart will know what it will.

Turning her cheek into the cold tiles of the kitchen counter, she rolled her disorientated eyes around the room, trying to find her consciousness between all the musky heat. He pressed his knee between her legs to call her back.

"Ahh..." She balled her hand into a fist on his stomach.

It made no difference. Love meant selfless selfishness.

He leans down to be of _self_-service, opening his mouth and suckling the side of her breast. Her fingers dug into his back as his body straddled her until her legs were straddling the air. With his eyes half closed, he watches her yearn for him.

"Y-Yes," she hiccuped, falling in love with making love.

Her legs closed on either side of his hips, squeezing a slow whine out of him, rushing the blood in his pulse to climb down into his groin. He shudders, and kisses an elongated nipple; she judders, and whispers his name. To feel the muscles in her body lock and convulse under his hands as he held her waist was more than he could ask for. She sounded like harp as he played her like an instrument. He glides the side of his fang up her neck to awaken her, and that sharp, rewarding yelp caused his thighs to jerk with anticipation. His pants flew up the side of her hair as he drew back to swallow his feelings. She curls her fingers around his and kisses around each knuckle, watching his moist eyes with mesmerize, trying to make him understand today was now sacred.

He was hooked on how she looked in this still frame; his little _Nimue_ with her dress hiked up around her thighs and water crystals in her hair; his _Mary May_ staring up at him with lovelorn in her eyes and sweat sugaring her breasts as her quills halo her; his _Delilah _biting her rosy little lips to hold it all in from him.

...His hand disappeared under her dress, and she gasped as she braced his elbows, watching him slide the white pair out of its hiding place. He lifted her thigh, bringing the fabric past her knees, and finally yanked it off the heel of her foot. She watches the ceiling's lights dance behind her eyes, thinking that their adultery would betray them tomorrow because she was sure of it. As her _Mr. Right Now_ throws her panties aside and takes her chin to force her to face fate, she rejects the angels and welcomes only him. The world between good or bad and right or wrong was nonexistent. There could only be one world—_hers_, and she wanted him in it.

"...Shadow," She wept for his love to meet her between the thighs.

The tears, pearly-white with desperation and not pain, made the portrait all the more explicit as he watched her open her legs and bite her knuckle with that moisture gleaming against her eyes...

"Come _inside_..."

…She should've never opened her legs to show him her innocence eight years ago. He should've kept his tongue in his mouth to never thrust his lust inside of that innocence.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda, but didn't.

A hoarse grunt cut the air like a knife through butter when he came inside. What had met him there was raw and beautiful, but nearly too much for him to swallow. His hands slammed down on the kitchen counter above her head, fingers suddenly shriveling up into fists against it. She gulps down the rock in her throat to feel him where she never thought he'd ever be sixteen years ago, and opened her eyes to see what his face looked like in that moment. His eyes were just as wide and watery from overwhelm; just as passionate and painfully screaming, _"there could have been something better than lust."_

He rested his face in the crook of her neck to breathe out his feelings. She relaxed her cheek on the side of his head as he did so, feeling at one with herself. He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deep—closing his eyes, lacing her fingers tighter between his, and hugging her body to his just for that moment—just to relish and embrace in being connected with her and nothing more than this, before rounding his back and thrusting in deeper. A gasp pleases his ears as he meets her hilt, and the breath of his name confirmed it for him. Eyes half-open, he impacts her harder with a second thrust, this time being able to succeed in curling her toes and spine in unison.

His breathing picks up as he pauses before regaining composure once more and breaching her with enough force to clatter the plates on the counter. Toes as white as rain, her fingers scrambled to find the counter's edge to latched onto for support. Her vision swam as she watched the sweat reflect the blue sheen on his black body. She arched her neck off the counter and spluttered out a gasp. The heat was swelling inside of her with wildfire, and her head was set to explode. His body was shaking just as much as hers, if not more. It wasn't made to take this: the slippery essence meshing together between their thighs, the trembling in his stomach, the quivering legs wrapped around his back, dragging him in deeper until he bit his tongue...—he wasn't skeletonized in the laboratory for this.

A strained grunt declared his sensitivity as he adjusted to the vice-grip of her wet warmth, and a kiss on her forehead signified his sincerity as his weight crushed her frame. Those heavy huffs and puffs of his washed over her breasts as he began to finally rock her to a rhythm, and the smile relaxed on her face as her back humped the kitchen counter. The sunset from the window basked her naked body while his affection filled her loins, perfecting every sensation that coursed through her drums. She hummed in her warmth, curling her fingers in happiness, and the tear that squiggled down her smiling lips was a reflection of anything but lewd lust or regret. She rested the back of her wrist on her forehead, head feeling like a ton of weight between the sugars of sweat that bounced off her body.

She watched his expressions change, from strain to contentment, and placed her hand on his chest, gripping the chesthair between her fingers. A stunted breath shuddered out of him as his heart punched his sternum. He shook under her caress, cracking his eyes open to see hers between the blobs of sweat. When she saw him return her gaze, she felt as though she was spinning and dancing in her own mindfields like a child in a garden of flowers; watching the world pass by in a flurry of colors. She looked back at the window for reality, and saw the horizon of day meeting night.

What balanced the sky was day and night. A shadow can't exist without the light. The Moon's one true love had always been the Sun, but were they both in denial of that right?

The salt shakers and glass bottles rattled on the counter, and the kitchen-quake two humping bodies created soon became frenetic and out of control. She arched her leg and steadied her foot on the shaking countertop, her toes now trembling on the tile, her lazy moans now choking into cries. The ceiling was spinning like a marry-go-round, and she didn't want it to stop.

"_Christ_..." Her _Ares_ bit into her bottom lip with a growl to conceal his torment. "It's been five _months_..." He whimpered weakly as her walls tightened, and had to resort to breathing through his nose to not whine. He plowed her harder, intertwining their hands until their fingers fisted together as the muscles in his face twitched. "...We _need _this..."

She could hear herself slurping for air the harder the tiles burned her back. Her wild eyes rolled in every direction, unable to keep up with all the dopamine bulging her veins. He penetrated her deeper, _longer_, taking his time with her to find that point of no return, and squeezed his eyes shut when her rushing warmth repaid him in rivers. He gently pinned her wrists to the level of her eyes, his legs righting to keep steady, his concentration filling her at an angle, his hips rolling to swirl the euphoria. Gritting his fangs and pressing his forehead to hers, he found himself content with watching the smile break out across her face like a new sunrise.

The clock was ticking now—they didn't have much time. The stars tinseled the black skies now—the blue hedgehog would be stopping by to sample her homemade pies.

Her _Ares_ unshackled her wrists to cradle her head, pressing his lips to her cheek as he panted through his nose. Another tear met her lash when she opened her mouth to confess what she shouldn't, but settled with digging her nails into her palms. Their bodies continued rocking in silence as the sun went down. His eyes rolled back into his skull when he felt it all coming to an end, and said her name in a type of whisper that she would hear only once. Brought to more tears, she tightened her legs around the small of his back. They mirrored each other's heart beats down to every moan and thrust as both mustered out their last grunts before the inevitable finale.

When the moment came, so did they—hard enough to shake the kitchen appliances off the counter. The sounds shattering around them didn't interfere with the music they made. He opened his mouth and threw his head back; she tossed and turned, shaking off the tears. They could feel the crashing of waves in that instant. He could see the star constellations from the window of Space Colony Ark, she could dance on the nimbus of the milk-way, but both touched and closed the distance between the Sun and the Moon. They didn't need to scream, they simply soaked in the beauty. Their shaking fingers loosened from their locked hands, and their pants died down from their splendor...

When reality finally opened their eyes to see one another, the walls would rebuild around them, and they'd have to make a choice to sacrifice life as they lived it. Eight years of the same; not a single year of change. No matter how many times they ended it, it always came back to the kitchen counter.

…She should've never allowed him to see her true self under that Sonic-obsessed exterior; he should've never allowed her to see his under that Ultimate Lifeform-conceited exterior.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda, but didn't.

* * *

_"See what this feeling means? Nothing is what it seems. Everything that you feel...is everything that I feel, so when we dream...we shout..."_

* * *

***Glossary**

**(1) Aphrodite**: _Goddess of love and civil justice. Although her heart was married to Hephaestus, she had notable affairs with Ares. Her symbol includes the rose, and she is depicted as a dove._

**(2) Ares**: _God of war, bloodlust, violence, courage, and civil justice. As the son of Zeus, he is depicted as a mature warrior dressed in battle arms._

* * *

Quotes ~ "We Shout," by T.A.T.U.

_**Author's Note: **_"It comes with corn," see? This is a fossilized document I found. The original version of, _"The Foolosophy of Love,"_ so to speak, and I left it as just that instead of changing its material. So yes, this is old and...iffy. In other words, _"Old quickie, spur of the moment one-shot from the past? Indeed."_ Reviews appreciated? Of course! If you enjoyed, then by all means, tell me about it!

_Sayanora._


End file.
